


Gluttony

by DictionaryWrites2



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Belly Kink, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Come Inflation, Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, M/M, MILD pregnancy kink, Marathon Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites2/pseuds/DictionaryWrites2
Summary: (The pregnancy kink is only in dirty talk.)Aziraphale was… a glutton. Crowley knew this, knew that he was, knew that he liked to drown himself in the things that brought him pleasure: he liked to eat all sorts of food and liked to eat a lot of it, liked to take long baths with all sorts of oils and soaps, and when they had sex… It wasn’t always like this. Of course it wasn’t always like this: they did different things, they played around, they experimented, but sometimes, sometimes, Aziraphale wanted to glut himself.Glut himself on Crowley.





	Gluttony

Aziraphale had been fucking him for what felt like an age.

Entire, discrete epochs had passed them by, Crowley was certain, whole eras had rolled by outside his bedroom; empires had risen and fallen; the planet had collapsed and been made anew.

Aziraphale was still fucking him, and Crowley had given up sobbing with overstimulation into his pillows: now, he was just making soft whimpers whenever Aziraphale rolled his hips particularly cruelly, and the tears were dried on his cheeks.

Aziraphale was… a glutton. Crowley knew this,  _knew_  that he was, knew that he liked to drown himself in the things that brought him pleasure: he liked to eat all sorts of food and liked to eat a  _lot_  of it, liked to take long baths with all sorts of oils and soaps, and when they had sex… It wasn’t always like this. Of course it wasn’t always like this: they did different things, they played around, they experimented, but sometimes,  _sometimes_ , Aziraphale wanted to glut himself.

Glut himself on Crowley.

He’d fuck him for  _hours_ , for hours on end, would roll his hips in slow, excruciating thrusts between Crowley’s thighs, each time dragging at his cock with his own; he would drag himself down onto Crowley’s cock, would ride him until Crowley all but fell asleep beneath him; or like this, like this, he’d shove Crowley onto his hands and knees (then hands and elbows, then hands and chest) and keep his fingers on Crowley’s hips, thrust into him until Crowley was certain he’d die from it.

He liked to draw it out, he said, liked to really  _enjoy_  Crowley’s body. He liked to watch Crowley come again and again and again, until his every nerve was brittle and oversensitive, while Aziraphale put off his orgasm, but tonight, he was doing something different. Crowley was on his chest and knees, as usual, and—

Tonight, Aziraphale was  _letting_  himself come, and just riding through it, and—

“Shift the position, please,” Aziraphale said quietly, and Crowley let out a wail as he gave a particularly vicious thrust, and he could feel his full stomach  _slosh_. His belly was swollen beneath him, hanging down beneath him like an overripe fruit, and he could feel Aziraphale  _in_  him, feel his come shifting in him, and this was… A human couldn’t do this, Crowley knew, but he was  _heavy_  with it.

“No, angel,” Crowley whimpered, “I can’t move, I can’t—”

“You can, my dear,” Aziraphale said encouragingly. “Move yourself, or I’ll move you.”

“I  _can’t_ ,” Crowley said.

“I did tell you, dear,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Wait, wait—”

Crowley keened as Aziraphale moved them over in one fast, twisting movement, making Crowley turn to straddle him, and making him land hard on the seat of Aziraphale’s thighs, so that Aziraphale was lying on his back and Crowley straddled him, and Crowley sobbed.

A few tears dripped down his cheeks, but the pain was  _an obscenity_ , and it was so good, so good—

His swollen belly landed hard on the curve of Aziraphale’s own gut, and it sloshed and shifted. Aziraphale was staring at Crowley’s belly in wonder, and his hands moved to press and grab at it, to press down and listen to the way his come shifted inside him… It felt— There was so much pressure, and it was so  _heavy_ , he felt so full he would die, and he cried out as he tried to rock down on Aziraphale’s cock, his aching thighs quivering and weak.

“Oh, my beautiful one,” Aziraphale said softly, and he grabbed hard at Crowley’s belly, making the come in him shift and making Crowley feel like he would  _die_ , he screamed out such a loud noise. “Look at what I’ve done to you…”

“Please, Aziraphale, please, please—”

“I can hardly reach your cock, my dear, pressed between us as it is,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley heaved in a gasp: his cock was hard against Aziraphale’s belly, his own weighting down heavily on it, and he was left thrusting between the two, desperate, so hard he couldn’t stand it, although his cock  _ached_ , his body  _ached_ … “Goodness, it looks as if I’ve made you pregnant.”

Crowley choked, his hands grabbing clumsily at Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale took hold of one of his wrists and pulled him down slightly. The pressure on his stomach and his cock was too much, in the one moment: his belly  _hurt_ , the pressure hard against the swollen flesh, the sound coming from within him making Crowley want to squirm and sob, but his cock, his cock—

Crowley came sobbing, and Aziraphale clucked at him softly, leaned up and kissed his forehead and his cheeks.

“Oh, that’s enough, I think,” Aziraphale said mercifully, patting the top of Crowley’s belly and making him shiver. “No, no, you… You need to sleep, I think.”

He worked a plug into him. Crowley hadn’t been expecting it, but Aziraphale did, gently slid it between his cheeks and stoppered him up as he drew out himself, stopped it from leaking out of him, and Crowley was left with his belly still heavy with a curve as Aziraphale gently pushed him down onto his side.

He kissed the edge of it, the fat, pregnant curve of Crowley’s gut, filled to the brim with  _Aziraphale_ , and then kissed his hips, his side, his shoulder, his neck… Aziraphale laid beside him, and he laid an elegant hand on the curve, tapping it with a drum-tight, wet sound, and Crowley gasped.

“ _Angel_ ,” he whimpered. “You’re  _evil_.”

“Oh, I’m hardly all that,” Aziraphale demurred, kissing the back of his head and stroking his belly in a gentle circle. “I merely like to ruin you a little, my dear, but you can hardly complain. You so like to be ruined.”

Crowley did.

He  _did_.

“It’s an attractive look, I think,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear. “The idea of you with child.”

Crowley shuddered, and he closed his eyes tightly, entangling their fingers.


End file.
